


Russian Roulette

by bluuemoon



Series: Shorts I've written about my angry purple gremlin oc [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Depression, Gen, Russian Roulette, Suicide, some fucked up shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 20:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluuemoon/pseuds/bluuemoon





	Russian Roulette

                It's been three days since Erie slept. Two since he's eaten, but he's been drinking all week. Perhaps passed out a good dozen times, but all his dreams were blank. His mind was empty, his house reflecting his state of being.   
  
His books were haphazardly thrown astray. Some lay open on the dining table he sat at, others piling on the couch so high that Erie had to resort to sitting in the dining room whenever he wanted to sit.   
  
He drummed his fingers against the polished but aging oak wood, time passing by the hours without so much as a glance from the man. Purple eyes dragged a lazy gaze across the house, reaching one hand up from his current activity to run through his rats nest of lavender hair.   
  
In his opposite hand was an empty revolver, three bullets laying idly on the table before him. 

He was never a gambling man, the only control problem he seemed to have was the one that he was currently killing his liver with. But more recently, the man seemed more interested in the game of chance, the roulette. The adrenaline that he thought could only be found in the heat of the hunt.   
  
Lowering his hand from his hair, he fidgeted with the gauge in his ear. Should he do it? Life felt like shades of grey now, like all he had been doing with his life was reliving a cycle that was bound to reset. 

His limbs felt weak, not surprising how his muscles started deteriorating when he stopped working out around a month or so ago. He liked to pride himself on his firm body, but with the road he found himself going down, he would have a beer belly before he turned twenty-five.   
  
Erie let his arm drop onto the table with a loud clank, the bullets rolling across the table till they rested against the pale skin of his bare forearm. Taking a bullet and raising it as if to inspect it, he quietly slid it into an open chamber of the handgun.   
  
Leaving just the one bullet in, he slowly pushed the cylinder closed and cocked the revolver. Pressing the muzzle firmly against his temple, he shakily rested a finger on the trigger.   
  
Even with his expression as stone cold as they came, a droplet of sweat rolled down his face and dropped onto his black tank top. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and pulled the trigger.   
  
The empty click made him jump, almost dropping the revolver onto the unswept floor. He exhaled through his nose loudly, bringing his thumbed to the hammer of the gun and cocking it again. His heart pounded in his chest at the sound of the rotation in the cylinder.   
  
He pulled again. The empty click didn't seem as terrifying this time. He was quite used to the heart throbbing chills that shook him to his core, he was a well renounced demon hunter after all. Erie Teuful was a name around the country side that had demons shaking with their little devil tails. But this felt different.   
  
Erie had control. He decided when to pull the trigger, he decided to put his life on the line. He deliberately put himself between the line of life and death.   
  
He wasn't scared of what would be on the other side, he knew he would go straight to hell. He was afraid of how the people he loved would find him. How would Giza, the boy who had been in his life for such a short time but already has had such a great impact on his health react? How would Silas react? Would he be disappointed in Erie? Would Erie die as a disappointment in the eyes of the only people that he cared about in his final hours?  
  
And with this thought in mind, Erie's body quaked as he cocked the revolver. Tears poured down his face and dampened his torn jeans as he pulled the trigger.   
  
His body dropped to the floor.


End file.
